Never Listen
by EucaBoat
Summary: "Well can we figure it out later?" He is so tired. His face stings. His heart mourns for the silenced voices of the 300 people who died in the Culling. Because of him. He barely hears her response, "Whenever you're ready." He wondered if he ever would be. A continuation of "A Day Trip"


"Because you're gonna get it." Jaha's voice echoed in Bellamy's head, taking on a different, higher pitch. Bellamy is thrown to the ground by another punch from the shot and bleeding Chancellor. His head slams into the earth and he opens his eyes.

It's not Jaha before him. It's Dax, the tip of his gun pointed squarely at Bellamy.

Bellamy grabs the small pistol he used to wound Jaha back on the Ark so long ago. He raises it in front of him only to see his empty hand.

"Nothing personal" Dax says, and his fingers close around the trigger.

Click.

Jammed. The round was dead. Bellamy stared at his empty hand wondering where the pistol had gone, where Jaha had gone. As Dax removed the dud, Bellamy took in the change of scenery. He snapped his head up when blonde hair appeared at the edge of his vision.

"Put it down Dax."

The large boy swung around, now aiming his gun at Clarke behind him.

"You should have stayed down there Clarke. I tried not to kill you. But here you are. Shumway said no witnesses."

Clarke left the gun raised, the end of the barrel pointing slightly to the left of Dax's chest.

"What is he talking about?" She asked, risking a quick glance at Bellamy, sprawled on the ground behind Dax.

"Shumway set it up. He gave me the gun to shoot the chancellor." Bellamy admitted, his voice low and his gaze never meeting Clarke's.

"Walk away now and I won't kill you." Dax threatened, weapon still raised and aimed at Clarke.

"Put it down." She threatens back never wavering in her resolve. The gun stays steady in her hands even as she wishes that the once killer would put down the gun. Even as she wishes that she wouldn't have to take another life. Especially the life of one of their own.

"Your choice."

There would be no reasoning with him. He had made his decision. But Bellamy was at stake and there was no way she could do this without him. They never got along but when it came down to it they always had each other's back. He was the only one who understood.

Bellamy stared at her as her fingers tightened around the trigger.

He understood that some things you do in order to survive.

Click.

Clarke glanced down at the gun, calculating the penalty of the misfire before instantly turning to run. Knowing she couldn't leave Bellamy behind, she dodged behind the nearest tree, using it as a shield as Dax fires twice. She inhales sharply as the first bullet grazes her upper arm.

"No!" Bellamy pushes himself off the ground and rushes towards Dax ramming him into the ground. Clarke had given him the time he needed to catch Dax off guard, knocking the gun from his grasp. Sitting on his waist, Bellamy struggled to get the upper hand on the bigger male, but was thrown off with a punch to the jaw after having landed two of his own. Back on the ground, Dax haunched over Bellamy, punching him again in the face, splitting the skin on his cheek.

Click. Crack. Click.

Clarke remained behind the tree panting, trying to unjam the gun and rectify it as usable. She listened to the boys grunting and grappling with one another and knew that Bellamy would not be able to win this fight on his own. Her hands trembled as they moved quicker.

Dax reached for the gun with both hands as Bellamy desperately tried to stop him, throwing his left hand out as well, but had to retract his hand after receiving a kick in the face from Dax's boot. Bellamy could feel the blood trickling down his face. He put his hands up to block as Dax swung the recovered gun towards his head, keeping it from crushing his neck.

Dax lifted the gun again and slammed the butt of it into Bellamy's face, snapping his head back too quickly, causing the older boy to hit his head on the ground.

As he struggled to remain conscious, Bellamy spotted something gold among the leaves and the dirt. A bullet.

His moment of distraction cost him. Dax pushed the gun back on his neck, causing Bellamy to choke. Scrambling with his hands he tried to push Dax off of him, move the gun, feel for a weapon. Anything to breathe again.

Clarke, still fumbling with her own gun, heard Bellamy choking. Giving up, she grasped the weapon in her hands, using it to push off the tree. She spun around rushing in behind Dax, gun raised as if it were a club.

"Get the hell off of him!" she yelled, arching the weapon down towards his head.

Dax turned, raising his own gun, and slamming it into her ribs.

Click. Crack. Crack.

Clarke gasped as the breath was knocked out of her and she fell to the ground. As she fell her foot caught on a root, twisting her ankle in an unnatural way. She lay motionless from the lack of air and the unbelievable pain in her abdomen. She could already feel bruising.

Bellamy, glanced at Clarke lying completely still on the ground, not breathing. His scrambling fingers found the gold bullet and, in a flash of red, Bellamy forced the bullet into the soft flesh of Dax's neck.

Bellamy gasped, dragging air into his now freed airways. Dax clutched at his neck as the blood continued to pour from his neck, trailing along the web of his skin, and staining his clothes and the ground. The larger male leaned back. Falling on his knees, and then laying flat on the ground staring up at the trees. But in the corner of his vision he saw something gold. Flowing gold locks just out of his reach. He wanted to touch them. Run his fingers through them. He breathed in, they reminded him of his mother's….

Bellamy took a deep breath, remembering that Clarke too hadn't been breathing a moment before. He sat up, struggling to regain his footing and stumbling en route to the tree where Clarke lay.

He reached it just as she dragged in her first air, coughing a bit. Clutching her ribs and groaning the whole way she propped herself into a sitting position just as Bellamy reached her, grabbing her knee as he slid down beside her. He tucked his shoulder behind her and she allowed herself to take his support and rest her head on the tree behind them. His hand stayed on her, as if to reassure himself that she was alive.

"You're ok" she rasped.

Bellamy didn't know if she was asking him or telling him. Letting him know that he would live or asking if he could live with what he had done.

She didn't know if she was saying it for his sake or for her own. Reassuring him that he was fine, or confirming for herself that she hadn't lost him.

"No. I'm not." He spits back. She is panting, and his breath is shallow. They both know that they should be saving their air, but some conversations can't wait.

Bellamy stares at the body of the child he just killed. Wide eyed and with loathing in his voice he started, "My mother knew what I'd done. Who I am." He says between labored breaths.

Shaking his head and with tears causing his voice to break, "She raised me to be better. To be good."

Clarke searched his face, her breathing heavy and her frown never leaving, "Bellamy,"

"And all I do is hurt people." he sniffed. A tear escaped carving a trail through the blood and dirt plastered on his face.

"I'm a monster."

His eyes refuse to meet hers, even though he can feel her staring, never looking away from him as he confided in her. Because if anyone could understand how he was feeling it was her. Earth had driven them both to extremes. Leadership had made them both do things they had never wanted, never thought themselves capable of doing.

She pulled herself closer. Her right hand remained on her ribs while her left hand propelled her forward, "Hey," Clarke gasped. "You saved my life today, and, you may be a total ass half the time, but" She paused and Bellamy huffed out a laugh.

She continued, " I need _you._ " Her emphasis on the last word struck him. He finally relinquished his stare towards Dax, slowly shifting his gaze to meet her sapphire eyes.

"We _all_ need you. None of would have survived this place if it wasn't for you."

Bellamy looked away from her at this. In his head he heard himself pleading with Jaha again.

" _I can't fight anymore"_

" _Don't you know? Life is a fight"_

" _What am I supposed to do?"_

" _Live. Breath. Suffer. You OWE them that. You want the peace of death. Then you're going ot have to earn it. Fight back! You think you deserve to be free of your pain. Do you deserve that gift?"_

Clarke, desperate to get through to the boy, searched her mind for what to say next. Her dad's words came back to her.

" _Forgiveness isn't about what people deserve."_

Bellamy stays facing away from her and away from Dax. "You want forgiveness? Fine. I'll give it to you. You're forgiven ok?" She's still gasping for air and he turns to look at her again.

"But you can't run Bellamy." She continues to stare at him, gauging his reactions. "You have to come back with me. You have to face it."

"Like you faced your mom?" He can't look at her. He knows that it's a low blow, that he's pulled at scars that were too recently reopened.

" _Forgiveness isn't about what people deserve."_

" _I'm sorry."_

She looks away from him, hearing an echo of her last words to the vision of her father before Dax tore her back into the bunker and knocked her out.

Clarke lets out a deep breath. A small laugh escapes her and she closes her eyes through the pain that is growing in her chest only in part from her ribs. She wants to scream. She wants to get angry. But she is tired. Tired of being mad. Tired of being hurt.

"You're right." She relents in shallow breath. Words she hardly ever said to Bellamy. She uses air she desperately needs to reserve to continue. Because some conversations can't wait.

"I don't want to face my mom. I don't want to face any of it." Her breathing had started to calm, but escalates again. Her words are rushed and desperate, "All I think about every day is how we are going to keep everyone alive."

She remembers her dad. " _I'm trying. I'm trying all the time but everyone is counting on me and it's so hard."_

"But we don't have a choice."

" _I let a man get tortured."_

Her whispered voice lingers in the air and her eyes are back on his face. He sniffs again, accepting her words. Their gazes meet.

"Jaha will kill me when he comes down." He acknowledges.

She stares back at him as if he is crazy. Crazy to think she would let them kill him.

"We will figure something out."

He rests his head against the tree behind him and turns his gaze to the trees above and the sky beyond them as thunder rumbles the earth.

"Well can we figure it out later?" He is so tired. His face stings. His heart mourns for the silenced voices of the 300 people who died in the Culling. Because of him.

He begins to slip back into the lethargy of their chant. _Murderer. Murderer._

He barely hears her response, "Whenever you're ready."

He wondered if he ever would be.

Clarke turns to face Dax again, using her left hand to push her farther up against the tree and farther away from the body. Bellamy is startled back into the present when she drops her head onto his shoulder.

"Just give me a minute." She begs. And he lets her have it. They wait in silence each taking the time to recover their breath like they should have before they had talked.

But some conversations can't wait.

Clarke glances down at Dax's body. "We should bury him with the others," she voices, sighing at the prospect of moving the body all the way back to camp. Shifting slightly to pull her knees under her, she hisses in pain.

Bellamy grabs her right wrist in unvoiced concern.

Leaving her left hand over her abdomen, she answers the unspoken question, "My ankle, I twisted it when I fell. Bruised my ribs when I got hit."

She continues her struggle upward so that she can face the older boy once again. Reaching out with her right hand she rests her hand on his jaw, causing him to have a sharp intake of breath. Turning his head left and right, she inspects the damage done on his face. She has him do some basic eye movements to check for concussion symptoms.

"Will I make it doc?" He asks her with a morbid humor as she finishes her inspection.

She gives him a look, one he should be used to receiving by now, and answers, "Well you're face is going to have some serious bruising which will take some time to heal. We should disinfect those scrapes when we get back. Also your nose is broken. I'm going to need to realign it."

She reached for his face.

"Now?" He exclaimed, leaning his head back until it hit the tree.

Clarke doubled over as she removed her hand from her ribs before straightening again. She placed her left hand on his jaw to stabilize his head, while her right hand grabbed his nose and quickly pushed all the bones back to their proper position, causing Bellamy to yelp in surprise and pain.

"Now." She confirmed unnecessarily as she removed her hands from his face, resting back on her knees. "I wish I had the right equipment. But since we are lacking in that department, I'll just have to check it every day and you'll need to be careful to not bump it. So don't be getting in any fights too soon ok?'

Bellamy shook his head, a small smirk on his face, "Whatever you say Princess."

Clarke ignored his last comment as she began the effort to try and stand. As soon as she got her feet under her, her left ankle gave out under her weight. She fell back to the ground, crying out as her ribs caused her even more pain.

"Clarke." Bellamy let out as he scrambled forward to her prone body, now curled up in the fetal position on the dirt ground.

He grabbed her arms which now covered her head and slowly pried them away from her face. She turned her head quickly, pushing her nose into the soil, not wanting Bellamy to see the pain she was feeling so clearly displayed on her face.

She tried to move away from him, but in the process aggravated both her ankle and her ribs. She cried out again.

"Clarke! Clarke, stop!" His raised voice called to her. But she would not face him. Bellamy had already seen her cry when the Exodus ship crashed, and as far as she was concerned that was already one time too many. She may tell him when she is feeling weak, feeling unsure, but showing tears is too far. Too personal.

"Clarke," he tries again, far softer and far kinder than she has ever heard him before. She wonders briefly if he used to talk to Octavia this way, when they were children.

Right now she feels like a child. Wants to be like a child. Innocent and carefree. Not the leader of a band of teenage criminals. Not the injured healer. So this time when Bellamy's hands land on her and he pulls her in his direction she lets him.

She does not struggle as he moves them back to the tree, where he leans himself against the tree and places her in his lap. She buries her face in his chest as his arms tighten around her.

She realizes how crazy their lives are. Not even twenty minutes ago, he had been the one breaking down, while she had done the comforting. Now their roles were reversed.

His voice was low, rolling deep in his chest like the thunder in the sky, "It's ok to feel pain."

And she does. She soundlessly lets her tears roll down her face, into his shirt, her right hand splayed over her abdomen and her left fisted in his clothes. She cries because of the pain, both in her heart and her body. She cries for her dad. She cries for the 300. She cries for those of the 100 who have died. She cries for Bellamy. She cries for herself.

It takes only a moment. A couple of minutes. She lets go of his shirt and pulls her face back, embarrassed by the tear stains she leaves on the fabric. She dries her ocean blue eyes on her sleeve and glances at the older boy.

His gaze is fixed on the trees above them. But she doesn't fail to notice as a tear drops off his sharp jaw.

 _It's ok to feel pain._

She wonders if he said it for her sake or his own.

"What have we become?" She asks the silence, not knowing if she would get an answer. Not knowing if she wanted one.

Bellamy stayed quiet, didn't look at her, didn't move. But she knew he was listening.

"Some of us were already killers, but now what choice do we have? The grounders tried to kill Jasper and Finn, and Charlotte killed Welles, and we almost killed Murphy. Murphy tried to kill Charlotte, who killed herself, then we banished Murphy, abandoned him to die, just like the Ark did to us. I killed Atom and now we've killed Dax. So much killing. So much death." She sighed. Her next sentence was so quiet he almost didn't hear it over the thunder in the distance.

"Bellamy, we tortured Lincoln."

He moves her so that she is tucked between his legs, her back resting against his chest. His arms tighten around her.

"I tortured Lincoln." He finally spoke.

"But I let you. I stood there and I watched and I stayed quiet after every lash." she quiets for a moment before gasping. "I was training to be a doctor. I was training to save lives. Not take them."

"We do what we have to." Bellamy grunts.

It's what they both tell themselves, whether or not they fully believe it.

"I was a guard on the Ark. If you were to save lives, then I was to protect them. It isn't any different here, Clarke. We are doing the best we can."

 _What if it's not enough?_

It remained an unspoken question between them. But they both knew they couldn't afford to think this way. They had done what they could. They had made the hard decisions and now they had to live with it. They would always do whatever was needed to survive. To help their people.

They were sent to earth to die? They were each criminals, never had been any good at doing what they were expected to.

"We are doing the best we can, and no, some days it's not enough. Some days, we make bad choices, some days people get hurt, people die. But each morning we wake up again, and we keep on living, we keep on surviving. We do what we must, and that's enough." Bellamy whispers, his head bent over, chin resting on her shoulder.

"It's enough," Clarke repeated, feeling the weight of his words. Clarke knew, when it came down to it, between the two of them, Bellamy had the bigger heart. If she was the brain, driven by science, statistics, logic, and medicine then Bellamy was the heart, driven by fear, love, anger, and a need to protect.

Maybe this was why they butted heads so much in the beginning. They each had what the other wanted

"Bellamy?" She whispered. His hands, which had been layered over her right one, laced around it now.

"Thank you for being here," She continued, her free hand absently brushing across his hands and up his arm where she began to trace a pattern.

"I wouldn't have let you come out here alone Princess."

"Thank you for being here now, and when we landed, and when Murphy tried to kill Charlotte, and when Jasper and Finn almost died." She paused unsure herself where she was going, "Just thanks for always being there."

"You make it sound like a goodbye." Bellamy accused.

"No," She leaned back, letting out an airy laugh with no joy behind it. "No you're stuck with me."

"Wouldn't have it any other way." He turned his face, nose nuzzling into her neck.

It felt so good to hold her. To know that she wasn't disgusted by him like he was by himself. Even though they spent most of their time arguing, she made him feel good. She gave him the courage to keep going and the motivation, the need to protect. When she was with him, he did feel like he was doing the best he could. She made sure he didn't have to bear the burden of leadership alone. She made him feel strong.

So he savored it. They both did. This moment when they weren't shouting at one another, weren't arguing.

Clarke leaned back and turned her face into his neck just as he had done. They sat in silence for another minute or two.

When she finally broke the silence, her voice was clinical, "It's time to go."

She removed her forehead from the juncture of his neck and shoulders and began to lean forward. But before she got too far, Bellamy slipped his hand up, cupping the side of her face. He placed a kiss on her jaw, right below her ear.

Before she could say anything, he slipped out from behind her, standing and offering her both of his hands. She grabbed on and slowly he helped her rise, keeping her weight off her lame ankle and allowing her to slowly extend her abdomen.

"Let's go." he said.

"Bellamy wait," He slowly lifted his ethereal brown eyes to meet her ocean blue ones. "We should bring the guns."

He stared at her, wondering for a moment, if this was really the same Clarke that had landed so many weeks ago with them.

 _Of course it's not._

None of them were the same people as when they landed. They would always be thieves, cheaters, liars, and murderers. Guilty. Earth had only enhanced this. But they were who they needed to be.

"For once I agree with you." he smirked. "But, to be frank, I expected you to put up a bit more of a fight Princess."

She rolled her eyes at his persistence to use that nickname. And yet she found herself minding less each time. He no longer said it with the animosity he had when they first arrived, animosity replaced with respect, and respect slowly evolving into something more.

"Well, obviously we will have to have strict rules on who has access to them. We'll also have to make sure our people know how to use them properly and that they can't just be shot at anything. Then we'll also need to keep inventory and-"

"And she's back." Bellamy cut her off. Clarke glared at him and his eyes crinkled into a smile. From their look, Clarke knew he wouldn't fight her on this. These were weapons. They were dangerous and they were limited. Two issues they faced a lot on earth.

Bellamy retrieved the two they had already surfaced, handing one to Clarke and strapping the other one on himself.

"Wait here." He commanded, "I'll go back to the bunker and get some more. Get ready to walk back to camp."

She wanted to argue, but she knew with her ankle, she would be too slow. Bellamy stalked off headed towards the bunker. Once she was alone, she hopped over to the body of the large boy. She laid the gun down, bent over, brushing her hand over his face, closing his eyes,

 _In peace may you leave the shore. In love may you find the next. Safe passage on your travels until our final journey on the ground._

"May we meet again."

She hobbled out of the clearing and began to look for a large stick, one that would be adequate as a crutch until she got back to camp. Finding one straight and sturdy, far from their resting place, she sat once more, pulling out her knife to shape the crutch.

Bellamy came back to an empty clearing. Dropping the two loads of guns, one larger than the other, he spun around quickly. Seeing her gun on the ground next to Dax's body, he assumed the worst. Panicked he scanned the surrounding forest for any sign of his co-leader.

"Clarke?" He whispered harshly. "Clarke!"

He dove into the forest, tearing through the trees looking for a glimpse of gold hair. His voice was drowned out by the thunder as he continued to call for her.

Crack. Click. Crack.

Bellamy's head snapped around when he heard a gasp of pain. She was close. He took off in the direction of the sound, pausing again to listen. She groaned, hurt evident in her voice. Racing to follow and expecting drastic situations, he rocketed to the source of the sounds.

Nothing. Trees loomed over his head. _Where was she?_

"Bellamy?" she sounded embarrassed.

His head whipped to the side and he began walking in the direction of her voice, seeing a small drop off hidden from his view by a fallen tree. The edge looked like a cave in from the top, a structural collapse. Looking over it, he saw her, alive. She was sitting at the base of another fallen tree, a large branch in her hand and a pile of large rocks covering her legs.

"I was making a crutch." She said weakly, "The ground gave out. Bellamy I'm stuck."

Instantly he began to make his way down to her, cursing her the whole way for wandering off on her own, didn't she know better. She was a teenage girl. She wasn't invincible.

When he reached her he dropped to his knees beside her, lifting her face to meet his eyes. Scanning her, he gained all the information he needed. She was embarrassed to need help, she was hurt but there was nothing irreparable.

He began moving the smaller rocks off her legs, her right leg was freed quickly. It had received only cuts and scrapes, one looked rather deep, but it was her left leg that concerned him.

One particularly large piece of the wreckage rested on the lower half of her leg. She had already twisted the ankle and, even without her medical knowledge, he was fairly certain that a large rock falling on it would not help with her healing process.

Using a branch for leverage he lifted the rock enough for her to slip her leg out. Once free she took in some deep lungfuls of air, hoping for the pain to abade. The rock had officially finished the job. Her ankle was broken, and she had two large gashes on her left leg.

Bellamy dropped to the ground, ripping strips from the bottom of his shirt and began to tie them around her legs to stop the bleeding. She rested her hands on his shoulders while he attended to her.

Once he finished he stood, offering her his hands. He pulled her up and straight into his chest. His arms wrapped around her once more.

"Don't," he started slowly, emphasising each word, "do that to me again. Don't wander off on your own. I thought something had attacked you! Don't disappear. Especially while you're hurt. Let me take care of you. Let me protect you."

His hand slipped into her hair, cradling her head on his chest. After kissing her forehead, he released her, bending and picking up her crutch. He turned back to her and, before she could protest, swung her up into his arms. He began the ascent back to the clearing where he had left the guns with only a corpse to guard them.

She let him carry her despite her reservations. His words left her speechless. Her resistance to help diminished, she held on, comforted by his swaying movements and his strong arms beneath her. She relished the opportunity to be near him, and for the nth time that day, she buried her face into his neck.

"Thank you Bellamy," She whispered to the trees behind them. Pulling herself up in his arms she kissed his jaw, in the same place as he had to her. They had reached the clearing and the young man put her down gently, handing her her crutch.

He bent over and picked up the two bundles of guns. He transferred a couple more guns from the smaller pack into the larger before fashioning some sort of strap on each bundle. Moving behind the small girl, he grabbed her hands, guiding her arms through the straps, leaving the weight of the guns on her back and still giving her a full range of motion.

Wordlessly, he donned his own bundle. He glanced at Dax, then at her. She understood. They would come back. They would come back with others and get the rest of the supplies in the bunker and they would bring Dax home. They would bury him with the others and they would have to tell his parents who had seen him that morning that he died.

They began the slow journey back to the dropship and the people they called home. The gates were in sight when Bellamy broke the silence.

"I need _you_ too, Clarke."


End file.
